


I'm not sure what this is going to be

by moreissuesthanv0gue



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Ian, Fluff and Angst, Gallavich, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mickey Uses His Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:14:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreissuesthanv0gue/pseuds/moreissuesthanv0gue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>{ when he was down, he was very very down. But when he was high, he swore he could fly.}</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm not sure what this is going to be

   From the very moment Mickey stepped foot into the police station, surrounded by Ian’s siblings, he was silent. He nodded at what Lip was saying, whispering about something that Ian somehow couldn’t bring himself to comprehend. He held Fiona, who wept and blamed herself for everything, as if _she_ was the one who had fucked up, as if _she_ was the one who had let Monica’s DNA fuck everything up. Even in the car, the silence that sat between Ian and Mickey matched the stones at the bottom of their hearts, the stress evident on Mickey’s face. He had lines that weren’t there before and under eye bags that seemed to multiply in size. Ian knew what that silence meant. 

   Mickey sighed as he unlocked the door, propping it open to allow Ian inside. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy when he looked over at the ginger, cheeks drawn in hollow, eyes dull, a look in them that he’d seen multiple times before, a look he could only describe as ‘sad fear’. It seemed that Ian had finally come down from his first serious high and was just realizing the seriousness of what he had done. Svetlana wouldn’t even look at Ian, preferring to snatch Yev and flee to Nika’s house. Ian was always the first to admit that he’d fucked up, and if it was anyone else, Mickey would’ve given them bruises and cuts and broken bones. But it was Ian, so the Milkovich boy sat on the couch with a sigh.

   “Sit down, Gallagher. Don’t give me that fucking look, you know I’m not going to do anything to you.” With a visible gulp, Ian tentatively sat down on the couch. “I-I’m sorry Mick…” “Why the hell would you do it then, Ian? While you and Yev were out having the fucking time of your lives, _I_ looked out for _your_ fucking family, and dealt with all the shit Svetlana threw my way. You can’t blame everything on a chemical imbalance in your brain. You’re so fucked up, Ian. Batshit crazy. Sometimes, I really don’t fucking want you around.”

   Mickey’s voice rose louder and louder until he was screaming at the younger boy, who seemed to curl into himself more and more with each word that slipped out of Mickey’s lips. Despite everything, Ian forced a smile onto his face, and gave Mickey the choice, because he knew that he owed him at least that much. “I know. I’m sorry. You’re right. I can’t blame everything on Monica’s shitty DNA because _I_ was the one who fucked up this time. _I’m_ the one who’s crazy. Sometimes I wouldn’t want me either. You…you can leave, if you want. If you wanted me to, I’d have my shit out of here in like 20 minutes. I’ll be gone. Just say the words, Mick.” Ian glanced back up at Mickey, biting his lip in worry. He saw Mickey slowly exhale before shaking his head. “You look beat, Ian. Go to bed, man. I’ll be there.”

   Later that night, Mickey quietly slid into bed next to Ian. As much as he tried not to touch Ian, tried to be angry, he couldn’t. Not when the bed shook with the force of Ian’s sobs, not when Ian’s dreams were all nightmares, when he’d lay there, his eyes closed, soft pleads escaping his lips, and Mickey would remember. _Fuck, Ian might have been tall and wispy like a giraffe, but he was still just a kid_. So he wrapped his arms around Ian’s waist and sighed into the crook of Ian’s neck. “You’re not crazy. A little fucked up, sure. But not crazy. I didn’t mean anything I said. I will always want you. I want the fucked up ginger with legs that go on for miles who makes heavenly coffee and always smells like laundry detergent. I promise, Ian. I’m sorry.” Although Ian didn’t talk, Mickey took the silence as an encouraging sign. “And you have every right to blame the disorder, but you can also blame me. I’m the one who denied it until it was too late. And I’m sorry for that too. We’re gonna get you some help, Ian”.


End file.
